TripleDogDare
by whocares10315
Summary: Just when Clyde had almost forgotten about "the bet" with Cartman…


_**[fanfic] Triple-Dog-Dare**_

**Title:** Triple-Dog-Dare

**Author:** **whocares10315**

**Pairing:** Cartman/Clyde

**Chapter:** One Shot [Sequel to The Bet]

**Rating:** M for strong sexual content, offensive language and disturbing themes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Matt and Trey's precious babies.

**Author's Notes:** Dedicated to **diana_lucifera** for the request.

**Summary:** Just when Clyde had almost forgotten about "the bet" with Cartman…

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**Triple-Dog-Dare**

Clyde could feel someone watching him.

As he stood under the warm spray of water in the boy's locker room shower, he felt unsafe in the tall, tiled cubicle, his only protection being a flimsy, plastic shower curtain that was borderline transparent. He didn't dare close his eyes, and if he washed his face, he did it swiftly, so as not to ever have a moment where he couldn't see. Though in doing so, he got soap in his eye.

He whimpered at the pain, rubbing his eye slightly, forgetting for a moment that he was being watched. But sooner or later, he felt the icy ripple trail up his spine at the suspicion of being observed. He kept telling himself he was just imagining it and that nobody was studying him as he showered. He was the last one there, he made sure of it.

But the mere possibility that he had not checked every place or someone had come in to check him out; it was chilling. Clyde even considered calling out, and asking if anybody else was there, but he had seen a lot of horror movies and that was always how the death scene started.

"_Hello? Is anybody there?"_

Tense, dramatic music score.

Scream.

Dead.

Clyde did not want to go like that. Not like the chick in Psycho.

Clyde even peeked out behind the curtain every now and again to make sure he was alone. He sighed in frustration at himself. When had he gotten this way? What had inspired such fear in him? Clyde wasn't much of a thinker but he could surmise that it had something to do with Cartman and his bet.

That fucking bet.

Clyde had been so sure he had been in the clear because he hadn't had to suck Cartman's balls. He even told everyone about it, and they all celebrated with a couple of Kenny's joints and shots of Jack. It had all ended happily ever after. Or that was what Clyde had thought. But since then, he was haunted by the thought that Cartman was going to find him and make him do something far worse. That even if Cartman practically kicked him out of the house, Clyde was the "one that got away" and now Cartman had to either kill him or do something ten times more humiliating than sucking his balls.

Another noise in the supposedly empty locker room made his heart clench with fear. He turned off the shower with a sigh of relief; he had survived the shower. But even as he thought that, without the reassuring sound of the shower, every little drip or breath of his sounded like it belonged to something or someone else.

Clyde took a deep breath; he was going to be fine. He was just paranoid. He kept thinking that as he leaned down to reach for his towel past the shower curtain that sat folded right outside his shower.

And then his wrist was grabbed.

Clyde cried out, the sound echoing in the shower as he tugged, slipping and falling back. He kicked at the mysterious figure on the other side of the curtain, his foot successfully landing on someone.

"Ow! Clyde, you asshole!"

Clyde froze. He recognized that voice anywhere.

"Cartman?" he croaked, still tugging, but less forcefully as his breath shortened.

"Yeah, you little dickhole," Cartman scoffed, pushing the curtain aside, looking angry. "Your kicks fucking hurt!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Clyde demanded, covering himself, flushing with embarrassment. "Get out!" Clyde frowned when he saw that Cartman still had a firm hold on his wrist. "And let go of me!"

"God, what are you, a girl?" Cartman rolled his eyes at Clyde's actions, moving in with him in the shower. "I just want to talk to you."

"Well, deal 'till I'm dressed, fat ass!" Clyde shouted, pushing himself back and away from Cartman, a part of him fearful that this was the follow up he had been afraid of.

"It's about that bet," Cartman sneered, pinning Clyde and taking ahold of his throat. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you Clyde?"

"What the hell, get the fuck off of me!" Clyde yelled, thrashing against Cartman, whimpering as the bigger boy grabbed him. It didn't take much to get Clyde scared, and what Cartman was doing was beyond normal standards of scary.

"Answer me; you do remember, don't you?" Cartman snarled, forcing Clyde to meet his eyes. "I bet you can't stop thinking about it."

"Lemme go, Cartman!" Clyde begged, grabbing at Cartman's arm, thrashing nervously. "Seriously, it's not funny."

"Not tryna be," Cartman insisted firmly. "Answer my fucking question before I kick you in the balls."

"God, Jesus, yes, of course I fucking remember!" Clyde replied a bit desperately, trying fruitlessly to squirm away from his grip. "How can I fucking forget the fact that I almost had to suck your balls!"

"And you didn't, did you, Clyde?" Cartman smirked, tilting his head in amusement down at the other, who grimaced at the look.

"'Cos you- you told me to get out of your house," Clyde said pathetically, as if justifying his actions.

"And you thought you were off the hook, huh?" Cartman grinned in that patronizing way. "Oh how ignorant of you."

Clyde whimpered slightly, trying to wriggle out of Cartman's hold on his throat.

"Please," he croaked. "Just- listen, let me put on some clothes and we can talk, right? Let's just talk about this."

"We _are_ talking about it, Clyde," Cartman said, pinning Clyde more against the tiles. "And it's not like I haven't seen a dick before. Jeez, how immature are you."

"You just attacked me in the shower, you fucking dick!" Clyde snapped, sitting up slightly only to be shoved back.

"Do you want to suck my balls or listen to what I have to say?" Cartman sighed tiredly, as if dealing with Clyde was tiresome.

"I'm not gonna suck your balls _ever_!" Clyde argued, even in his compromising position.

"I dare you to jack off in this shower right now," Cartman said flatly, only grinning when he saw the way Clyde reacted. "If you do, I won't make you suck my balls…and take rather suggestive pictures of you."

"What-what the shit, dude!" Clyde shrieked, his voice breaking. "Just let me go!"

"I triple dog dare you," Cartman continued, frowning at the other. "And you can't go back on a triple-dog-dare; that'd make you an asshole."

Before Clyde could tell Cartman to let him go and just forget it, he considered the dare- if he just did what he did at home, Cartman would leave him alone. Clyde, ignorant and naïve as well, didn't understand that there were always exceptions with Cartman and he never meant what he said.

"Just if I jack off in the shower?" Clyde clarified, raising an eyebrow. "Then you'd leave me alone?"

"And we can forget about that whole sucking of balls scenario," Cartman grinned, removing his hand from Clyde's throat and patting his cheek mockingly. "Now that's a good Clyde."

"Shut the hell up," Clyde snarled, shoving Cartman back to get up, still damp. "Now step out, I can't jack off when you're in here with me."

Clyde understood that Cartman wanted to humiliate him and he knew he couldn't escape; so instead of fighting against him, he figured he could do something that nobody else would have to know about and just get it over with in exchange for his freedom.

"What're you talking about, Clyde, I'm gonna stay right here," Cartman said, crossing his arms and leaning on the tiles.

"What? No! That wasn't part of the dare!" Clyde claimed, glaring at Cartman.

"Oh no? Huh, I forgot to mention that. Oopsie," Cartman shrugged carelessly.

"You can't do that!" Clyde complained, pointing a finger at Cartman. "I'm not doing it!"

Cartman grabbed Clyde's arm again, twisting it and shoving him against the wall, digging Clyde's face into the wall.

"Yes, you are," Cartman growled, twisting Clyde's arm and making him whimper in pain. "Or I'm just going to be bugging you to suck my balls for the rest of your life and don't think I won't do it, Clyde. 'Cos you know I will."

Clyde took pause to stare back over his shoulder at Cartman fearfully, flushing at the thought of Cartman tailing him forever. That sounded like Hell, absolute Hell. He swallowed tightly, clenching his fists. He could handle one moment of humiliation, right? He had already done some pretty embarrassing things with Cartman that anything else would just be inconsequential. He had even kissed Cartman. Clyde flushed at the thought, hiding his face into the tiles; why did that bother him more than anything else? So what? It didn't mean anything. He kissed a bunch of people. So it was Cartman, a mindless psycho—fine. But nobody else knew about it so it didn't matter. It didn't matter.

"Clyde? You still with me? 'Ey! Fuckin' listen!" Cartman ordered, slamming Clyde up against the tiles again, making him groan as the dull ache spread through his cheek bone, down his chin and neck. It jolted him and Clyde whimpered pathetically.

"Please," he begged, not really knowing what he was begging for. "C'mon, this is retarded, Cartman."

"You're gonna do it, and you're gonna do it now," Cartman said confidently, pressing his warm lips to Clyde's ear. "And you're gonna like it."

When Clyde felt Cartman's lips on his ears he clenched his eyes shut, feeling the same way he had when he had kissed Cartman. Confused as to why he was enjoying it; why Cartman was actually not so bad, despite the circumstances. Clyde had told himself over and over it was because he was delirious and traumatized. Told himself not to think about it, just like everything else slightly important in life. But Clyde did think about it. And he was so confused, it hurt the momma's boy.

"Okay," Clyde finally succumbed, keeping his eyes closed. He slid his free hand between his legs, shivering from fear and humiliation. He tried desperately to think about something arousing like Bebe's tits or the porno he had watched a couple of days ago. He shoved his hips back to give himself room, flinching when they met the front of Cartman's pants.

"Clyde, so aggressive," Cartman mocked, keeping Clyde's hand firmly behind him, his big upper torso pressed flush against the back of Clyde's toned back, keeping him pinned to the wall.

"Shut up, fatass," Clyde hissed, his forehead pressed to the tiles as he tried to concentrate.

"Stop calling me that," Cartman said, surprisingly calm as he bucked his hips back against Clyde, pinning him completely to the wall, making it difficult for Clyde to breath let alone move his hand.

"Ow, Cartman," Clyde winced, though something about the way he was pressed against the cool surface—much to his dismay and disgust—aroused him. He tried not to let Cartman know, foolishly, as he stroked himself, breath hitching.

"You like that, huh, you dirty slut," Cartman smirked, licking behind Clyde's ear, making a shiver of repulsion run down Clyde's spine; even so, it amplified the sensation between his legs.

Cartman kept his free hand right next to Clyde's face on the wall, using it as leverage as he rolled his hips into Clyde's arched hips, a bit painfully.

"Ow, ow! Stop, my hand!" Clyde cried, though his face grew red and he shoved his hips back accordingly in response to Cartman's movements. He didn't realize it was Cartman's strategy. Move hard enough against Clyde to hurt to make him shove back. Unknowingly, Clyde was pleasing Cartman and surprisingly, himself.

The sharp pain shooting up Clyde's twisted arm and shoulder made him groan, but he continued to rock his hips back as if to buck Cartman off, but to no avail. He found that his hips movement helped the state of his arousal; Clyde focused on pleasing himself, wanting to finishing off as soon as possible. He told himself over and over that was why it had been so easy to get hard.

"Well, look at you," Cartman snickered, peeking over Clyde's shoulder, making the other brunette blush harder and shove back against Cartman roughly.

"Stop touching me!" Clyde whined, making Cartman smirk in amusement and take Clyde's twisted arm and pin it over his head on the wall.

"Why? You scared of how much it turns you on?" Cartman teased maliciously.

"N-no!" Clyde shot back, embarrassed, crying out when Cartman humped his hips up against his arched cheeks again.

Clyde felt his throat close up and his eyes well; he thought he was going to cry he was so confused with his own body's reactions. But he couldn't deny how it felt _good_. Despite how wrong it was, it felt good, and he was too simpleminded to understand it. He grunted quietly, letting himself give a bit by rubbing himself back against the front of Cartman's pants, shivering at the roughness of the material against his skin.

"C-Cartman," he stammered, unsure for what purpose he had acknowledged the other. But he worked his hand, teasing the slit and focusing on the head, hips bucking shallowly as his breaths came in short.

"Mmn, that's right, Clyde," Cartman approved, sounding a bit breathless himself as he continued to shove the other back against the wall with his heftier body. "Moan like a little bitch."

"M'not a bitch," Clyde panted, head ducked, eyes clenched shut as he fondled himself and stroked his shaft teasingly; just like he'd do it at home. Except it was much different. Someone was behind him, using the arch of his back and ass for friction. And that someone was Cartman. Fucking Cartman.

"You're taking too long," Cartman grunted impatiently, slapping Clyde's hand away and starting to work him harshly.

"_Ah_! _Ahn_, stop it, Cartman, it hurts!" Clyde shouted, moving his free hand to try to shove the other off, but Cartman was bigger and stronger. His indelicate movements tugging on his arousal were painful but with every stroke, it brought Clyde closer.

Clyde, wrapped his hand around Cartman's thicker wrist, supposedly there to remove Cartman, but it soon proved useless. Clyde was a sniveling mess, gasping for air, hairline brimmed with sweat as he bent down a bit lower, grinding his ass back against Cartman while rocking into his rough handling fingers.

Cartmans' free hand moved from the wall to Clyde's hair, tugging his head back painfully, twisting the strands to make Clyde scream in pain. But even so, Clyde quivered underneath Cartman's touch, keening as he all but fucked Cartman's hand.

Both individuals seemed to blank and lose track of time for a brief, blinding moment.

When they both realized where they were, Cartman's hand was covered in Clyde's seed and Clyde felt more spent than he ever had before. He felt Cartman finally release him, letting him fall to his knees to catch his breath. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Clyde had just let Cartman give him a fucking hand job in the fucking boy's locker shower because of a fucking dare that would cancel out the fucking bet he had made so long ago.

And he had liked it. More than liked it. Clyde's emotional blue eyes watered and his throat wobbled, but he wasn't upset; no, just confused. His head hurt. But his body still rang with pleasure.

"Cartman," Clyde said, turning to see that nobody was there. He looked around frantically, wondering how someone so big could have left so silently. He looked up and down the boy's locker room and saw a trail of wet footsteps leaving the room. He looked at them with a questioning stare, wondering what to do from there. It wasn't just that kiss anymore, it was this. Could this all be thrown under 'mistakes you shouldn't tell anyone?'

Whatever it was, Clyde didn't want to think about it. He demoted himself too stupid for heavy shit like this. He grabbed his towel and got dressed, inwardly yelling at himself whenever he thought of how Cartman had pinned him up against the wall and said such nasty things to him.

Cartman regretted not having a camera. Somehow, he thought that would have been more fulfilling. But as he left the locker room, licking his hand clean, he had to wonder if what had happened wasn't fulfilling enough.

Though Cartman was frighteningly intelligent, like Clyde, he too was ignorant of many things. He was ignorant to the fact that it wasn't just the pleasure of humiliating another person that got him off. It was specifically Clyde. Cartman knew there was _something_ special that drew him to Clyde. But he didn't think it was love or lust or anything easy to categorize like that.

No, no. Nothing easy or simple like Clyde himself.

But Cartman understood that the more he challenged Clyde with these bets and dares and deals, the more he could get out of Clyde. Most would beat him up, or find some way to surpass him, despite his clever and manipulative ways. But with Clyde—he gave up so painfully easy.

It wasn't over. Cartman—though still a scheming abomination, matured—_had_ been planning on making this the end and finally leaving Clyde alone. But it was like before; after one taste of him, he wanted to touch him other places. Now that he had done that, he wanted to be a part of him and see Clyde's face twist in expressions that nobody else got to see.

And he would see them.

Cartman walked all the way home with that thought.

It wasn't over.

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